Her Name
by TheCouchster
Summary: After the tragedy that was the fight against Glory, Spike is reeling. The women that he loves is dead. So how does he go on? A short look into Spike's mind following Buffy's death. Set during the summer between seasons five and six.


One hundred and seven days today. One hundred and seven days since she jumped off that tower, since she sacrificed everything for the world.

It had been one hundred and seven days since she died.

He'd seen her lifeless body on the ground. He'd wondered why she wasn't getting up, she was injured. But then reality dawned on him. There was that moment of utter disbelief. She was so strong, she was a warrior. But there was no denying it, Spike had seen so much death in his existence, it was easy to recognize. That was the point when he broke. And then the tears wouldn't stop.

Since that moment, he'd refused to think of her name. If someone else said it, his mind would censor it with "Slayer", "pet" but mostly, just "her".

Putting a name to the body would be like sealing the deal. Accepting that it was her body that was buried in the ground.

Life without her was taking its toll. Not just on Spike, but everyone. It was understandable, she had been this giant force hurtling through their lives. And now it was calm.

Spike worked with the Scoobies on patrol and such, killing the vamps with elaborate plans. The vampires that the Slayer could have dusted in seconds. Putting up with the Scoobies wasn't as big a deal as Spike made it seem. The hard part was having to be around the Bot.

The Bot tortured him. To see it walking, talking, but having to remember that it's not actually her. That what looked like flesh and blood was merely metal and wire. Spike couldn't count the number of times he had seen it coming down those stairs in the Summer's house, and for a moment, he would think it was her. There was that fantasy, that someday the person walking down those stairs would be her, alive and breathing. For a split second she was back. Spike would fill with hope and awe, only to have it shatter once again. In order to protect himself, that split second got shorter and shorter as the days went past. Now when he sees anyone walk down those stairs, he doesn't even dare entertain the notion of it being her, the following devastation and disappointment is too much to handle.

Because she's never coming back.

Spike wondered where she was.

He hoped she was someplace nice. Getting rewarded for all those good deeds. Someplace she was safe, and would never be hurt again. The chance that she was okay was one of the only things that kept Spike going. Thinking how she could be calm, at peace with the world.

Maybe she was in Hell. Being tortured, and tormented. When Spike thought like that it was all he could imagine. He'd hear her screams reverberating inside his head. All of her anguish, her pain, trapped inside his mind. He'd break down. Imagining her suffering. Hell was not a merciful place by any standards. So the pain that she would be experiencing would be beyond measure. If she was in Hell, it was Spike's fault.

But who knew? Maybe she wasn't anywhere.

That was the thought that killed him the most. That the Slayer had just ceased to exist. The notion that her soul, her essence, was gone, nothing was left but her decaying corpse. She had simply left. No rewards. No punishment.

Nothing.

He tried not to think like that, and ended getting caught up in his dreams instead. Of what he could have done differently, that night at the tower. Each night it was different, yet each night the same.

She always survived. Every time.

Those dreams were Spike's release. The only thing he looked forward to. Because they were realities in which the Slayer was alive. His personal paradise, knowing that she still breathed.

The dreams were also his undoing. Having to wake up at the end of them, and face the actuality of her death. Over and over again. It was physically painful to remember that the bright spark of life she emanated would never again know the light of day. That the one hundred and seven times he saved her didn't matter, all that mattered was the one time he didn't.

He was broken.

All of his insides seemed to be out of place or missing. Thinking about her did that to him. He put on a game face for the Scoobies, but when he wandered back to his crypt, alone, he began to spiral. It was like there was this giant vortex of despair consuming him. He felt helpless. The Slayer had made him a kind of man, without her, he wasn't sure what he was.

Spike knew he was no longer fully a monster, he knew that for sure. If he was, he would be jumping for joy at the Slayer's death. But he wasn't. He loved her. And even just thinking that not a year ago he would have reveled at this news? It revolted him.

But that didn't make him a man. He couldn't be a man with the kind of past he had.

He couldn't be a man without her.

So here he was once again at her grave. Spike's nightly patrols always led him back to this point, even if he wanted to be anywhere but her grave.

The minutes rolled over, one hundred and eight days now. This day was the day. The day Spike accepted it.

It was official now, he'd thought of the body in the ground using her name.

Her name.

Buffy.

**Thank you for reading! This is my first attempt at writing fic so it would be great if you could review and let me know what I'm doing right/wrong. Just thank you, thank you so much **


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